


Fever Pitch

by Syrum



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, Cute, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Sick Character, Sickfic, nurse!finn, shy boys being adorable, sick!Poe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:23:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5679535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He was on fire.  The air he dragged, rapid and short and too hot, into his lungs did little to quell the burning ache in his chest.  His skin felt as though it might be aflame, eyes watering behind closed and sticky lids, lashes clumping under the near-constant onslaught of tears and sweat that might have cooled him, possibly, if it did not feel as though his very veins ran with molten rock.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stranded on a strange planet together, Finn must care for a sick, delirious Poe if they've got any hope of getting home again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever Pitch

He was on fire. The air he dragged, rapid and short and too hot, into his lungs did little to quell the burning ache in his chest. His skin felt as though it might be aflame, eyes watering behind closed and sticky lids, lashes clumping under the near-constant onslaught of tears and sweat that might have cooled him, possibly, if it did not feel as though his very veins ran with molten rock.

“Poe?” A hand, cool and perfect and he might have sighed in relief though he could not be certain. “Shit, you’re burning up.” A whimper, the sound foreign to his ears and like sandpaper to his throat. He wanted to call out, to bring that soothing relief back, even just for a moment. Just a small break from the burning agony, he thought, that was all he needed. Yet the words never came, _couldn’t_ come, tongue too fat in his mouth and throat too parched to form much more than incoherent noises, a combination of pain and need.

The hand didn’t return, not for what seemed like hours, days even, but what might have only been a few seconds. Poe whimpered again, wishing the aching fire would subside long enough to slip into unconsciousness, the pain near-maddening. Finally, blissfully, something cold and damp was placed over his face, and the light behind his closed eyes dimmed, just a little. There was wetness that was not sweat, and his mind could not process the _why_ of the sensation.

“We need to cool you off, somehow.” The low rumble above his head sounded entirely too close and yet much too far away, all at the same time, voice fading in and out. Poe turned his head a little, the motion setting his stomach churning and he bit down on his tongue, trying to quell the sensation. “There’s a stream nearby, more like a river I guess, looks clean at least.” Strong arms, stronger than he knew, slid beneath his trembling, weakened form, and Poe had the sudden and very strange sensation of floating. It wasn’t like flying, not in the slightest, almost like he was being suspended, closer to a parachute yet without the actual drop.

His stomach seemed to disagree, with the last part at least, and he heaved. Poe didn’t have to be entirely all there to know that it couldn’t have been pretty, and the shift in his position combined with the press of what he assumed was dirt beneath his knees - too sharp - and against the back of his hand meant they had stopped. He heaved again, bile hot and disgusting hitting the back of his throat then out, the cloth cooling his cheeks long gone and he might have lamented its loss, if not for the gasping inhale too soon that had him choking.

“I have no idea what I’m doing here. I’m trained for injuries, not for...for _this_.” The near desperation in that voice left an ache in his chest, hands gripping him tightly, hot when they should have been cold, holding him up and they were moving again. “Why’d you have to get sick here, huh? Anywhere else, we might have been able to find a doctor or a medidroid. Not here, though, and we both know there’s no way I can pilot that ship off-planet without you, if the damn thing’ll even fly again.” He might have laughed, might have apologised, but both were far beyond his comprehension at that point, and the thought of either fled his mind as a cool tug pulled at his legs, his hands, then his chest. The relief was almost too much, the sob that wracked his feverish body loud and long.

Strong arms encircled him, holding him still, keeping him safe against the fast flowing water, the scratch of fabric against over-sensitised skin drawing a slight shiver, and where had his clothes disappeared off to? Not that it mattered, but Poe could not remember being divested of them, thankful for the lack of a barrier between his fevered flesh and the soothing waters of the river.

“I’m going to need you to try and drink, can you do that for me Poe?” Of course he could, Poe thought, when asked so nicely. He tried to look up, to see, but the motion of his head brought back the nausea and the barest hint of extra light set his head throbbing. Something solid and wet pressed to his lower lip, and Poe opened his mouth obediently, the water rushing in too fast and making him choke.

Dragging in stuttering breaths, most of the water ending up in his lungs or back in the river, he lay bonelessly against the firm body beside his own. Eternity passed in the amount of time it took for Poe to catch his breath once more, and they tried again, the press of flesh to lips and the rush of too much too soon, choking him, drowning him, but it was cool at least and he couldn’t resent it, not even a little.

“Please don’t hate me for this.” There was a pause, a silence that was more tense than awkward, though all Poe knew was the burn of his throat and the ache of his chest. “I’m just hoping you’re out of it enough that you don’t remember anything.” There was movement, the ghost of a breath across his cheek and the press of something else, something softer. He parted his lips once more, the slightest trickle of water flowing over his tongue and he drank it down, parched throat more than a little pleased at the cool flow. Again it came, and again, until he simply could not swallow any more.

While the ache hadn’t subsided, the cooling waters around his body certainly seemed to be helping, and Poe found the energy to shift slightly against the strong form at his back. It hurt, pain exploding behind his eyes, and the pilot collapsed back again with another small whimper, eyelids closed tight against the dappled light.

“No, no don’t do that, stay still.” Frantic, perhaps even panicked, and Poe did not miss the careful but firm placement of hands holding him, even as he tried to curl further into the embrace. “I’ve got you, I’m not letting go. You’re safe as long as you’re with me.” There was warmth beneath his ear, not the staggering burn of fever, but something pleasant. He sighed into it, nuzzling forwards, and the contact seemed to help even as the hands around his shoulders and waist tightened.

With his temperature starting to drop, and the agonising pain in his head manageable provided he remained still, Poe was finally able to relax into the hold, breathing in the familiar scent and letting himself drift into a dreamless, much-needed slumber.

* * *

“Looks like we’re finally going to be able to leave this rock.” Poe grinned over at Finn, pulling the thick blanket tighter around his shoulders as he shivered slightly in the late evening air. “Took ‘em long enough to find us.” The planet itself hadn’t been _so_ bad, aside from the obvious setback of Poe’s mystery and rather unpleasant illness. Food had been plentiful, the tall trees that seemed to cover most of the planet offered shelter and nothing had tried to kill them yet. Of all the planets they could have crash landed on, it was probably the best they could have hoped for. Still, Poe’s stomach cried out for a meal that wasn’t entirely plant-based, and his back ached for a proper bed after too many nights sleeping in their makeshift tent.

“You’re not wrong.” Finn agreed with a smile, watching as the familiar carrier ship began landing manoeuvres. “How you feeling?” He asked, Poe’s jacket heavy around his shoulders, keeping out enough of the cool breeze to be comfortable. He had tried to persuade the pilot to take it back, just until he was a little warmer, but Poe wasn’t having any of it and outright refused, citing hurt feelings and the threat of a pout.

“Don’t worry about me buddy, I’m fine.” The laugh that spilled from his lips was familiar, yet slightly broken, throat still raw. Finn turned to look at him, and Poe wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders instinctively.

“So that’s why standing next to you feels like being too close to the back of your X-wing during manoeuvres, huh?” Poe had the good grace to look at least a little sheepish at that, moving to pull away and only stopping when he felt the firm tug of Finn’s arm around his waist, holding him in place. It felt nice, and Finn fit against his side perhaps a little too perfectly. Sparing the ex-stormtrooper another glance, Poe took in the slight flush across the man’s cheeks, and the nervous little smile upon his lips.

Those lips...familiar, soft, the nervous brush of air and the cool relief of water. Poe’s tongue flicked out, brushing over his lower lip to ease the phantom pressure lingering there, or perhaps to ingrain it. A memory? He couldn’t be sure; the fever-dreams had been intense, and frequent. Perhaps it was simply his imagination, teasing him with what he could not have.

Or not, he thought, as Finn’s eyes darted down to Poe’s mouth before glancing away again, the blush deepening a note. Poe allowed his lips to curl up in a small, hopeful smile, making a mental note to follow up on that once they were safely home once more.


End file.
